Heather felt monumentally guilty about the way she was invading her husband’s privacy. She’d never dreamed of spying on him, but now she was doing more than that. In a very real sense, she had become him, experiencing everything he did.

Kyle continued down St. George until he came to Willcocks, then he walked the short block west to New College. Three students said “Hi” to him as he made his way inside; Kyle acknowledged them without recognizing them. His lecture hall was large and oddly shaped, more rhomboid than rectangular.

Kyle moved to the front. A student came down, obviously hoping to get a word with him before class began.

Kyle looked up at the her and -

What a babe.

Heather was angered by the thought.

And then she herself looked at the girl.

“Babe” was right. She had to be nineteen or twenty, but she looked no more than sixteen. Still, she was attractive — streaked blond hair in an elaborate do, big blue eyes, bright-red lips.

“Professor Graves, about that assignment you gave us?”

“Yes, Cassie?”

He hadn’t known the names of any of the students who greeted him in the corridor, but this one he knew.

“I’m wondering if we have to use Durkan’s model of AI sentience, or if we can base it on Muhammed’s model instead?”

Heather knew from recent Swiss Chalet conversations with Kyle that Muhammed’s approach was very cutting-edge. Kyle should be impressed by that question.

Babe, he thought again.

“You can use Muhammed’s, but you’ll have to take into account Segal’s critique.”

“Thank you, Professor.” She smiled a megawatt smile and turned to go. Kyle’s gaze watched her tight little rump as she walked up the steps to one of the middle rows of seats.

Heather was bewildered. She’d never heard Kyle make an inappropriate remark about any student. And this one, this one of all of them, was so youthful, so much like a child pretending to be an adult.

Kyle began presenting his lesson. He did it on automatic; he’d never been an inspired teacher, and he knew that. His strength was research. While he trudged through the material he’d prepared, Heather, now oriented in his mind, decided to press on. She’d come to the precipice, but, she realized now, she’d been hesitating before jumping over.

But it was time.

She’d come this far — finding the right mind out of seven billion possibilities. She couldn’t give up now.

She steeled herself.

Rebecca.

She concentrated on the name, while calling up an image.

Rebecca.

Harder and harder, shouting it with her mind, building up a good, concrete rendition of her face.

Rebecca!

She tried once more, rivaling Stanley Kowalski’s shout of “Stella!”

Rebecca!

Nothing. Simply demanding the memories didn’t bring them forth. She’d had earlier success concentrating on people, but for some reason, Kyle’s past memories of Rebecca were blocked.

Or repressed?

There had to be a way. True, her brain wasn’t hardwired for accessing external memories — but it was an adaptable, flexible instrument. It was simply a question of finding the right technique, the right metaphor.

Metaphor. She had interfaced her own mind with Kyle’s. Still, she had no control over his body — she’d failed to get that French rapist to stop, and now she attempted something more subtle, trying to get Kyle to glance at the floor for a moment. But it didn’t work. His eyes simply roamed over the students, without really connecting with any of them. The metaphor her mind had adopted for her current circumstances was that of a passenger, riding behind Kyle’s eyes. It had seemed a natural way of organizing the experience. But surely it wasn’t the only way. Surely there was another, more active method.

She kept trying to access what she’d come for, but except for the fleeting, harsh images of an accusing Becky that forever danced at the edges of his consciousness, Heather could find none of Kyle’s memories of his younger daughter.

29

Frustrated, Heather left the construct. She visited the bathroom, then called Kyle’s office, leaving voice mail asking him to meet her for dinner tonight — Friday — instead of their usual Monday-evening get-together at the Swiss Chalet. She was desperate to know if her intrusion into his mind had been detectable by him in any way.

They arranged to meet at nine. With that much time, Heather decided she could prepare a meal for both of them, so she suggested, tentatively, that Kyle come by the house. He sounded surprised, but said that would be fine. She also asked him if she could borrow back their video camera. He made a silly joke — why did guys always think video cameras were going to be used for raunchy purposes? — but agreed to bring it with him.